The Ballad of Puck and Rachel
by joker to the thief
Summary: It's in hitting all the right notes./ A series of unrelated one-shots set to music./ Chapter 2 - You Belong with Me
1. city love

_I never liked this apple much  
It always seemed too big to touch  
I can't remember how I found  
My way before she came around_

He hates New York.

He does. Screw all that 'I heart NY' bullshit.

He hates the fact that there are 8 million people in the city but he doesn't really KNOW anyone (aside from his girlfriend and their little group. God forbid he makes friends). He hates the 'New York scene' where it's all standing in front of a hip, new club waiting for a grumpy bouncer to let you in so you can pay for overpriced drinks while listening to a lousy DJ. He hates the fact that he's paying a whole shitload of money for a stinking shoebox of an apartment and he can't even get his girl to move in with him 'cause there's barely enough space for her toothbrush. Her _fucking_ toothbrush. He hates the stupid accents – hell no, he's not gonna _fuh-gedda-boud-dit, _jackass. He hates the sirens and the taxis and the bike messengers and how everything seems to be in a fucking hurry. He hates how you can't take a step anywhere in a 2 mile radius of Times Square without stepping on a fucking fanny-pack-wearing, camera-toting tourist (_They're just billboards, dickwad! Stop gawking and get out of the fucking way!_)_._

And right now, in the middle of summer when the heat just kind of coagulates in the city, the subways stink of sweaty, unwashed bodies and he's trudging along in a pool of his own sweat, he hates it most of all.

It's not glamorous like the shit they show in movies or TV. His job pays good, he'll admit, but if he ever had to redo his life over again, he's definitely not gonna listen to Anthony Bourdain anymore. Hell, Finn probably had the right idea – police officer in Lima and high school sweetheart barefoot and pregnant. At least the man didn't have to deal with rats in public parks (RATS!).

The small hand tugging on his startles him from his thoughts and he turns to look at probably the best thing in the entire city (fuck it – the whole world).

"Oh, Noah, isn't this exciting?" His girl is clasping his hand to her chest and jumping up and down in excitement as they watch workmen of the Richard Rodgers Theatre spell her name out on the marquee, one letter at a time. They've gotten the R-A-C-H-E-L-B-E down already.

The light that appears in her eyes should not make him feel like he has a gooey, caramel-y center but he can't help it. "It's your name in lights, baby," he says softly, kissing her on the temple.

She sighs happily. It's taken her years to get to this point, with her name above the title and her face on the Playbill and he's so fucking psyched for her. For a long time, it was tears and disappointment and him just wanting to punch every goddamned pussy/casting director on Broadway for making his woman cry. But now…now, she was the star. He always knew she was one; now the rest of New York knew it too.

He had followed her to New York back when he was still 19 and foolish and sometimes, he wonders what the hell he was still doing there. But then again, all he has to do is look at her, watch her just be _her_, and he knows something as true now as it was 5 years ago – he'd follow her anywhere. With a determined pull, he hauls her sexy little ass to him. Her arms automatically wind around his neck and her eyes are shining like mad.

She hums in contentment when he kisses her. "I love New York, don't you?" she whispers against his lips like a secret.

This – the fit of her in his arms and in his heart – is the only home he knows in this fucking city. "Love _you_," he shrugs, uncharacteristically sentimental.

"I love you, too." She smiles and if it was even possible, the light in her eyes grows brighter. It has him _thisclose_ to proposing right then and there. Shit's happening oftener and oftener, if you ask him. Thankfully, she's distracted by her co-star coming out of the building and joining in her excited twittering before he can whip out a ring. Over the sound of traffic and yet another NYFD truck blaring its horns as it passes by, he realizes something. Maybe New York isn't so bad after all.

It has her.

(And so does he.)

_From the Battery  
To the gallery  
It's the kind of thing you only see  
In scented, glossy magazines_

_And I can't remember life before her name_

_

* * *

_

**Disclaimer**: a shout-out to any fellow New Yorkers out there. Hey, as much as I love the city (and I do), there are some things that still irritate from time to time, right? ;)


	2. you belong with me

**AN: **I don't even know, you guys. IDEK.

* * *

The auditorium (also known as the April Rhodes Civic Pavilion) is dark, the only light coming from the single spotlight trained onstage. The rest of the McKinley High population is sequestered outside the doors and all is quiet. Until an annoyed voice drawls out of the darkness.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, B."

"You're being a boy who is supportive and mindful of his girlfriend's needs during a difficult and trying time upon which the future of the club, Nationals and, subsequently, _my entire life_ rests."

"Yeah see, that's just a lotta words for 'pussy whipped'."

"Noah!"

"Please…like you're not used to this mouth by now."

Silence.

"Your mind totally went to a dirty place, didn't it?"

"It most certainly did _not_!"

"Yeeaaahh, it did." The smug way he prolongs the syllables makes her want to slap the stupid smirk she knows is on his face. "C'mon, baby, it's only natural."

"Noah, I don't think you fathom the gravity of the situation! We are lacking a crucial member since Finn decided that a week before Nationals would be the perfect time to learn how to rollerblade!"

"Yeah, a full body cast really isn't the best look for the guy. You'd think he knew how _not_ to steer into a brick wall."

"_Not the point!_" she screeches and he legit has to shake his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears. "It's just…it's Nationals, Noah! NATIONALS!"

Okay, he's seriously scared she's going to give herself a seizure or something. Time for some damage control. "Breathe, Rach…breathe. You remember how to do that right?" She rolls her eyes but nods anyway. "I get it. It's a big fucking deal. Which is why we're gonna listen to all those losers who signed up for auditions and we'll find someone awesome to be our replacement 12th member. We've so got this in the bag, babe."

Another beat of silence and then the sound of her face meeting her palm. "We're going to get crushed in New York, aren't we?"

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Don't start quoting Star Wars at me, Noah Puckerman." At his gape, she snaps. "And don't give me that look!"

"Shit, baby. I've got some serious wood for you right now. Let's ditch this and go find somewhere private."

"Focus!"

"Fine," he grumbles, pouting like a little child who has his cookie taken away. "You owe me for this, Rachel. I expect payment in BJs."

She gives him a big ole whack on the arm while muttering under her breath about 'filthy mind', 'inappropriate comments' and 'so lucky I love you'. With a sign to Brad and the jazz band on the stage, they begin.

* * *

2 hours in, each has privately wished they could shoot their eardrums out. Well, Puck has; Rachel has just been clenching her teeth to prevent her from saying something completely horrible (and true) about their singing abilities. After the 4th student that ran weeping from the stage, she figures she needs to ease up a little. So far, they've sat through 3 freshmen channeling _High School Musical_ ("I didn't even _know_ they made Zac Efron wigs." "Well, now you do."), a truly scary senior who performed something by Insane Clown Posse, some Cheerios who were scared into auditioning by Santana and Quinn, Azimio warbling through _I Will Always Love You _(he was Crier #3, actually) and a big breasted blonde who looked like she was auditioning to be a stripper ("Noah Puckerman, I swear to Hashem if you—" "Not looking, babe! Not looking!"). The rest were just blah and completely forgettable. Finally, _finally_, it seems like the number of people auditioning have dried up.

Puck breaks the silence. "Well…that's 2 hours of my life I'll never get back."

Rachel sighs. "I think we can call back that sophomore. You know, the one with the many piercings that sang Nickelback. She has…potential."

"Yeah, potential to be a disaster." He scrubs a hand across his face, completely missing her eyes widening and her shocked gasp. He is alternately horrified and turned on by what comes out of her mouth next.

"Motherfu—"

"Berry!" he interrupts, surprised.

She ignores him. "What is _he_ doing here?"

When Puck looks towards the stage, the bright red fluff flaming like a beacon under the lights tells the whole story. Okay, it makes sense that Jacob is there. Even Puck's status as her boyfriend and the numerous times he's threatened the dude hasn't stopped Jewfro from lusting after Rachel. The only difference now is he was doing it from further away.

Rachel is seething. How dare that little worm? Granted, he _was_ part of Glee for a few hours before Finn rode in on his white horse (or Mr. Schue's unfortunately crappy car) and saved Sectionals. But then again, he didn't really audition or sing. He was just a warm body that they needed to sway in the background like a red, frizzy prop. But this is different. This is _Nationals. _

And now he's here. In her auditorium. Auditioning for _her_ club.

Meanwhile, the boy onstage is squinting into the darkness. With both of the judges shocked into silence, he shrugs and proceeds with his audition.

"This is for you, my goddess," Jacob practically drools. Rachel winces and makes a memo to have the damned microphone sterilized, autoclaved or buried 6 feet underground. "Hit it, maestro." Brad rolls his eyes before starting a very familiar tune on the grand.

She groans aloud when she recognizes the song, burying her head in her hands "Oh, for the love of Swift..."

Puck is wondering about her reaction to the song. It seems perfectly fine, catchy even (but don't tell anyone he said that). Then Jewfro starts on the lyrics and his eyes almost fall out of their sockets before he nearly busts a gut laughing silently.

_You're on the phone with your boyfriend, he's upset  
He's going off about something that you said  
He doesn't get your humor like I do_

_I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night  
I'm listening to the kind of music nobody likes  
And he'll never know your story like I do_

_But you wear short skirts, I wear t-shirts  
He's team captain and I'm on the bleachers  
Dreaming 'bout the day when you wake up and find  
That what you're lookin' for has been here the whole time  
_  
_If you could see that I'm the one who understands you  
Been here all along so why can't you see?  
You belong with me  
You belong with me_

It's like a dying cat singing a banshee's song while being slowly strangled by a tone-deaf hyena. A part of Puck wants to shoot the guy and put him out of his misery. The other part…well, it's currently rolling on the floor, laughing his head off, while his girl is cringing in her seat.

When the song ends several excruciating minutes later, to the relief of all those listening, nothing can be heard from the seats except horrified silence and labored wheezing. Brad finally takes charge and pushes Jacob out stage left, all while repeating a mantra of 'I love my job, I love my job' in his head.

Of course, Jacob has to have the last word. As he exits, he delivers one parting shot: "I love you, Rachel Berry!"

Puck is still snickering and shaking his head when Rachel drops her face in her hands and moans. "Noah—"

"Relax, baby," he interrupts, forestalling her inevitable freak-out. He drapes an arm across her shoulders. "He knows if he even breathes on you wrong, he gets my fist in his face. Let the weirdo have his…song."

She sighs and curls up against his side exhausted by the entire endeavor. If she could just remain there in his arms and forget about Glee and Nationals for the rest of the day, that would be fabulous. She sighs again, contented until his voice echoes once again in the dark.

"So…think maybe we can just wheel Frankenteen in on his bed and tell everyone it's just a costume?"


End file.
